


Refrain

by ryukoishida



Series: On my Heartbeat Radio [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Refrain. n. A phrase or verse that recurs at intervals in a song. If his life is a song, Rin is certain that his refrain revolves around terrible decisions and regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refrain

            Rin has expected it.

 

            Gou has informed him weeks ago that she’s going to join the same competition with her school mates at Iwatobi High School; she has especially mentioned who are in the band, her voice hinting at something that he has chosen to purposely ignore. He knows what she’s thinking.

 

            Even though they’ve lived apart for the past five years, they are still close – can still read the underlying meaning of each other’s tone without making it painfully obvious. And on the phone as his little sister chatters about her band mates, she casually mentions how Haruka still likes to shut himself off in a corner and ignore everyone whenever inspiration strikes, or half-heartedly complains about how Makoto doesn’t take good care of his voice because he keeps eating chocolate right before performances (“To calm his nerves, he said,” she laughs, and Rin pictures her shaking her head fondly.) even though he knows that the sweets will cause his throat to close up and his voice won’t sound as smooth.

 

            Through phone calls and e-mails from Gou, Rin has been getting updates about his friends’ doings for the years he’s been away. Can he still consider them friends? Should he still consider himself as their friend? If the answer is “yes”, then he must be the world’s shittiest excuse for a friend.

 

            A friend doesn’t disregard another’s letters (every letter he received from the green-eyed boy he’d read over and over again until ink faded and paper frayed; he’d reread the few letters he got from Haruka, too, but those had seized to arrive in his mailbox long before Makoto’s persistent ones did – Rin couldn’t blame him); a friend doesn’t come back home for visits and avoid going to places he used to hang out because he was afraid he’d run into old acquaintances; and a friend certainly won’t walk away in cold, distant silence, sending only an angry glare in their general direction (Why did he feel that flare of red that had overwhelmed everything else in that moment? It wasn’t anger towards them – god, no. He was frustrated at himself – at the coward he’d somehow become because he’d refused to face his problems, face them, and now that he saw them again after years of not talking to each other, he was afraid of what might come out of his mouth, his heart. It scares him more than he can comprehend.) when he sees his childhood playmates at the too-bright hallway of the performance centre.

 

            Rin has expected this moment would come sooner or later. He’s thought he’s fully prepared for every reaction the other two may have when they inevitably run into each other, and Rin has rehearsed repeatedly in his mind how he’d respond in each probable situation.

 

            What he didn’t expect was the startled happiness on Makoto’s face; Haruka was less forgiving, those familiar blue eyes overly cautious when the shock of seeing him quickly subsided.

 

            Rin has foreseen many possibilities: feverous anger, pointed avoidance, awkward silence, vacant disappointment, and even forced conversation with fake smiles. Yet when he saw Makoto’s earnest, longing gaze reaching out for him so openly like that – as if the years of stagnant silence has suddenly washed away and became nothing but a vast blank canvas waiting to be filled with meaningful lines and splashed with colours – Rin didn’t know what to think, so he panicked.

 

            And when Rin panics, it’s never a pretty sight: his defensive mechanism kicks in and it’s all grating insults spat carelessly and aggressive body language that forces people – even people he loves and cares about – away. He doesn’t really mean it, but he doesn’t know how else to deal with situations he doesn’t entirely understand.

 

            That was a week ago. 

 

            “Rin-senpai, are you okay?” Nitori Aiichiro – or Ai, as his friends call him – Xoc’s rhythm guitarist, asks as they make their way into the backstage area to get ready, the boy’s sky blue eyes round with worry.

 

            When the red-haired teenager doesn’t reply, and Ai is about to repeat his question, the band’s lead guitarist, a tall, broad-shouldered young man with dark hair and sharp, teal eyes by the name of Sousuke Yamazaki shakes his head subtly, wordlessly suggesting Ai to leave him be for now, and places a steady hand on Rin’s shoulder, his tone soft but unyielding, “Now’s not the time to have pointless thoughts. They’re becoming a distraction; disregard them. Concentrate on what’s important here, Rin.”

 

            So his childhood friendship has dwindled down to nothing more than something “pointless”? Rin grasps Sousuke’s hand that’s still sitting on his shoulder and pushes him off, the glare he sends towards his fellow band mate can only be described as hostile; his lips are set in a rigid line, his crimson eyes dark with annoyance.

 

            “Don’t fucking lecture me on things you don’t understand, Sousuke,” he mutters fiercely though the volume of his voice is barely a whisper so that only the dark-haired boy can hear him.

 

            Rin stalks ahead, his bass hitting his back with every step he takes; he doesn’t hear Sousuke’s murmured words, “You never gave me a chance to try.”

 

-

 

            As expected, Xoc wins best overall performance, even if Rin’s voice lacks the usual fervour and passion though he hits every note strong and with precision. It almost feels – to Sousuke anyway, who has been friends with him and has seen his best and worst moments since their days at Hanns Eisler when they were studying in Berlin – like the vocalist has lost the will to fight, the strength to carry the message of their lyrics that usually takes flight when his voice soars along with the audience’s enthusiastic cheering and applause. Today, his performance feels spiritless – dead.

 

            Their performance may appear to be perfect in the technical sense, but as they make their way back to the green room to gather all their belongings, the adrenaline rush of the day gradually simmering down until reason comes crawling back, the members of Xoc know better, and Rin most of all.

 

            “What’s up with Rin-senpai today?” Momotarou Mikoshiba, the band’s sometimes too-energetic-for-his-own-good percussionist asks Ai, who keeps sending their band leader anxious glances but doesn’t want to pry. “He doesn’t seem like himself when we’re onstage.”

 

            “I don’t know,” Ai replies, thinking back on how the upperclassman’s mood had shifted right before the semi-final a week ago. At first, he thought it was just nerves – everybody had those at times, but they each had learned ways to deal with it so that it wouldn’t affect the quality of their performance – but after they had been notified that they would be going through to the finals, Rin had nodded stiffly and all but rushed out of the building as if he couldn’t stand being caged inside anymore.

 

            Before he can say anything, however, he stops so abruptly that Momotarou almost runs into him with a wince and muttered a “what’s the hold up?”

 

            “Rin-senpai’s talking to someone. Should we wait, or…?” Ai aims his question at Sousuke uncertainly, but the boy who towers over everyone else in the near vicinity seems troubled by the sight and perhaps hasn’t heard the question.

 

            To say Rin wants to bolt would be a better description of the current situation, if his tightened fists, shivering frame, and eyes that keep restlessly darting between the ground and the two boys he’s conversing with – one with cinnamon brown locks and delicate green eyes, the other with inky hair and frosty blue eyes – are any indication, although conversing usually involves both parties to communicate, which Rin is clearly feeling uncomfortable with doing.

 

            Sousuke can guess who they are; Rin has talked about them often enough when they were at school – the one who always picks a fight with him but has an immense gift and intuition in composition, and the doe-eyed boy who can pen lyrics capable of destroying and renewing one’s heart.

 

            He clearly wasn’t boasting about his childhood friends’ talents without ground, because Haruka Nanase has proven himself by winning the best music composition award, and though Makoto Tachibana has just fallen short, Sousuke – and he’s sure the majority of the audience members presented have felt the same way – knew that the words Tachibana wrote have been inspired by his own personal experience. The lyrics is sincere, rings painfully true, for himself as well as for others, and it touched them all in such a way that was subtle like the spring breeze – unobtrusive, barely there, breathing against their skin, thrumming and shimmering with life.

 

(“Goodbye yesterday/ I live on dreaming each day to be with you,” his gentle voice weaved between glasses-boy’s staccato piano notes and Gou’s pull of violin strings, supported by the blond’s steady drum beat and Nanase’s reliable bass line. “We’re brought together by countless feelings/ And keeps on searching for our ways,” he sang of hopes of a better tomorrow, a day when he would reunite with that someone again, that someone who had somehow drifted away and he felt helpless so all he could do was hope and pray with his song.

 

            Those shining sea green eyes never faltered – always searching, hoping.)

 

            Sousuke vaguely wonders what, or rather who, the song is about, and then quickly dismisses the useless thought. His gaze never falters away from Rin – not since they were stuck sharing the same dorm room for the past few years.

 

            He remembers seeing Rin’s eyes lighting up every time he received letters from them; it’s excitement simmering down into a kind of soft tenderness that Sousuke doesn’t realize the hot-headed boy he called his best friend is capable of. He was surprised then, wondering who could have such an effect on him, and there was a small part of him – and it’s still there even now, as childish and impedimental as the sentiment may be – that could taste the raw bitterness of jealousy.

 

            Sousuke would never admit this out loud, of course. It won’t do anyone any good at this point. So he keeps quiet, observing.

 

-

 

            Rin turns a corner, head lowered and red hair brushing the side of his face, still flushed from standing under the glaring spotlight during the award ceremony not long ago.

 

            The flashes from cameras of various local newspapers have rendered him half-blinded, the cheers and clapping so thunderous that it was almost deafening to his ringing ears, and without waiting for his band mates like he knew he should, Rin has rushed off immediately after they have gotten off the stage, muttering to a bewildered Momotarou that he didn’t feel well, before he disappeared behind the great swinging oak doors.

 

            Without paying the slightest attention, Rin turns another corner and collides solidly against a stranger’s chest.

 

            “Shit, sorry,” Rin mutters, tugs at the strap of his instrument case, and is about to walk around the stranger when another voice makes him pause.

 

            “Running away again, Rin?”

 

            His limbs become frozen, even though all he wants to do is get away; he recognizes the impassive tone and unwillingly drags his gaze upward.

 

            Not a stranger after all, Rin muses, heart thumping against his chest with a steady, solid beat.

 

            “Haru,” he meets eyes that burn with blue flames (Rin expects nothing less), and then he looks over at the taller boy, such a contrast of calm green, and he nods with a bit more valour, “Makoto.”

 

            The brunet replies with that familiar, easy smile of his – the one that always makes Rin believes in him in the darkest of times, the one that can always mitigate the chaotic, self-destructing storms of his heart.

 

            At that moment, with Haruka glaring unabashedly at him and Makoto giving him that usual sunshine of a smile, it almost feels like nothing has changed between the three of them; it’s as if those five years’ worth of silence has never existed in the first place.

 

            But they have questions for Rin – of course they do. He can read the confusion and hurt and anger in the fluctuating shades of their eyes, and Rin cannot deny them that. This is the least he can do after all this time.

 

            “Let’s talk somewhere quieter,” Rin makes the initiative, eyes once again reverting to the ground as he walks on ahead. He hears Makoto murmuring something to his other band mates, and then two sets of footsteps – slightly out of synchronization – follow him from behind.

 

            They end up in one of the empty rehearsal rooms, one side of the wall covering in full-length mirrors, and as they enter with every step echoing eerily around them, Rin, who is glancing at their reflections, suddenly realizes just how much time has truly passed since they last talked face-to-face.

 

            "Well?" Haruka crosses his arms, waiting. Makoto looks like he's about to say something, his hands turning into fists and loosening again by his side, but still, he remains quiet for now.

 

            "What do you want to know?" Rin leans his instrument case against the closest wall, thus hopefully succeeding in avoiding looking at either of them. He knows he has nowhere to escape – doesn't want to anymore.

 

            "Why did you stop writing to us?" It's Makoto who voices out the question for both himself and Haruka, and Haruka's lips tighten into a thin line. "I – we were so worried, but we had no way of knowing..."

 

            Rin hasn't told anyone the reason why he's suddenly decided to return to Japan months ago, not even Gou, who knows better than to ask when she knows her elder brother will only reply with a superficial, perfunctory answer.

 

            There are so many explanations Rin can give them; any of them would have sufficed, but none of them would be enough to rectify the years of silence that have spread like an ugly disease: always present, a dull ache that constantly demands attention, but Rin has stubbornly chosen to ignore it until it's too late, until it's become rotten and unsalvageable.

 

            "Because I didn't want my best friends to see how pathetic and useless I was," Rin says with a smile so mournful – so unlike the Rin they remember as a child – that the expression sends tremors through Makoto. Standing close beside him, the taller boy feels Haruka stiffens. "Because I didn't want to break the promise I made to you both before I left."

 

            Rin doesn't want to tell them about the endless number of nights he spent locked up inside a windowless, soundproof practice room, pressing unfamiliar chords and plucking strings in intricate patterns until his fingertips burned, until strings left angry impressions on them, until the skin broke and finally bled. And still, he wasn't good enough; he's never good enough to start with. He was fooling himself before, but after studying at the academy for so many years, Rin understands and accepts his limits.

 

            "You already did," Haruka tells him, eyes cold, and Rin immediately comprehends the underlying meaning of those three words, doesn't think they'll hurt that much but they still sting like a branded reminder. "You call that performance 'a sight we've never seen before'?"

 

            "Haru!" Makoto pulls on Haruka's arm, signalling him to stop what has already tumbled out of his mouth.

 

            "He's right, Makoto," Rin laughs, the sound hollow and grating even to his own ears. "I didn't deserve that trophy. The other guys – Sousuke, Ai, Momo – they gave it their all, but all I could think about was..." He stops there, hesitates for half a second before he steps forward, attempting to close the distance between them, wanting anything to erase that gap.

 

            "I've thought about writing to you, or phoning you, but then... Weeks turn into months, and the more I fell behind in my classes, the more ashamed I felt about contacting you guys. I was trying so hard, but... I guess I was just not good enough."

 

            "Stop it, Rin," Makoto is in front of him in a second, suddenly too close, his proximity almost overwhelming. Rin stands rooted, limps unable to move. "Stop putting yourself down like this. You're good enough. You're more than good enough," he isn't shouting – Makoto never shouts – but his voice is trembling with such intense conviction that Rin nearly believes him.

 

            Rin only notices when he looks down: Makoto has enveloped his hands with his huge ones, warmth seeping into his skin and Rin feels his cheeks heat up.

 

            "Why...?" His voice is weak, but his grasp on Makoto's fingers tightens as if mere physical contact with the brunet is enough to lend him strength. _Why are you not yelling at me? Why are you not angry? Why are you comforting me when you should be mad? What is wrong with you two?_

 

            In the midst of the warring questions swirling in Rin's head, Haruka has decided to invade Rin's personal space, too, not that the red-haired boy minds that much.

 

            “Because we know you,” Haruka says quietly, eyes unblinking and staring right through any of Rin’s remaining defences. “When you want to run and hide, nobody can force you to come out, but you didn't need to hide – not anymore, not when you're with us. Do you get it, Rin?”

 

            "Y-yeah," Rin stutters, taken aback by the intensity in Haruka's eyes so much so that his foot automatically shuffles back, only to be stopped by Haruka's arm loosely encircling his waist, keeping him steady. "Um. Haru?"

 

            If his face gets any hotter, Rin is sure that he will actually burst into flames.

 

            "Don't run away like that again," Haruka warns, and his arm around Rin is gone as he takes a small step back, but a small, teasing smile lights up his entire face.

 

            "Promise," Makoto adds, also releasing Rin's hands though the red-haired boy wants to protest but is able to stop himself just in time.

 

            "Yeah, yeah," Rin shrugs, doesn't think about the warmth he regains for a brief moment and how much he misses it – them – already but then his grin grows, dimples softening the sharp angles of his face, and Makoto and Haruka are glimpsing a hint of the Rin they both remember and love.

 

            It will be a long while before things can return to the way they used to be, and Rin isn't even sure if that's exactly what he wants. Maybe the three of them are meant to stray apart only so that they can reunite at this point in time and space again.

 

Maybe this time, their reunion will bring something new – something they never know they want or seek after.


End file.
